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- Path: sparky!uunet!munnari.oz.au!manuel.anu.edu.au!huxley!tal691
- From: tal691@huxley.anu.edu.au (Tonio Loewald)
- Newsgroups: comp.sys.amiga.games
- Subject: (WS) WINGS! A tale of the deadly skies (Fiction)
- Date: 4 Jan 93 02:08:15 GMT
- Organization: Australian National University
- Lines: 114
- Message-ID: <tal691.726113295@huxley>
- NNTP-Posting-Host: 150.203.2.12
- Summary: How I play Wings!
-
- Here's a bit of a story I thought up on one of my favourite games, _Wings_. I
- hope you'll enjoy it. (It also reveals how I play the game. ?:-)
-
- _Memoirs of a Flying Ace_
-
- The Private Diaries of Lord Reginald Asqwith.
-
- (Names have been changed to protect the guilty.)
-
- It was a cold, crisp morning, the frost cracking beneath my feet as I
- strolled to my SE5a. "Morning, chappies," I shouted out to the mechanics
- standing beside my plane. They nodded with a smile. Today my orders were to
- take up the two new boys to our squadron, one of them Lieutenant Harry Barker,
- who had racked up a bit of a reputation, having already shot down 23 Huns. The
- other was green, Boy Hopkins, some toff from a titled family. He was shooting
- his mouth off about how many Huns he'd get. He'd soon know what fighting was
- all about.
- The French countryside spread out beneath us like a quilt, a quilt with a
- dirty strip down the middle, the mud soaked trenches. Hopkins waved at me
- grinning. Barker only nodded. He knew it would be soon before the Boche
- screamed down at them.
- He wasn't disappointed. Six Albatrosses appeared in front of us, looking
- for a scrap. I recognised them as one of the top ace outfits, looking for
- patrolling planes like us. They peeled off and lined up in an attack formation.
- Hopkins, silly fool he was, disregarded all orders, put his foot down and
- raced at the enemy. If I was quick I would still be able to rein him in.
- Bloody idiot, he wants to die young. I'd oblige him.
- Barker motioned to reel Hopkins in, but I cut him off and lined up behind
- Hopkins. We were almost upon Hun when I fired a burst of my Brownings at
- Hopkins. The bullets ripped through his wings' rigging, snapping them, and
- stopping him making any evasive manoeuvres. Hopkins looked around in panic. He
- didn't know who fired at him. It couldn't be me, I was his wingman. By the
- time he collected his thoughts he was already in the midst of the Hun planes. I
- could see the German officer's face. Stupid Englander, I could hear him think.
- Why would he doom his own comrade? Shooting at him only makes our work easier.
- I looped away from the enemy gaggle. By the time I was able to look back at the
- enemy, Hopkins was already going down. Poor me. I'd have to write a
- consolation letter tonight.
- Barker looked on in shock. This was how the famed Asqwith racked up his
- 47 kills. He whipped his crate out, hoping that getting to grips with Fritz
- would occupy my mind. Dumb boy. He had experience of flying against the
- Germans, but not against someone on his side. He floated up in front of me like
- a cloud. I couldn't miss. I pumped bullets into his engine. It promptly gave
- a puff of black smoke. It was enough, I thought, as I climbed away.
- Poor old Barker. He was a good pilot, I grant you, but even I wouldn't
- last long with my plane shot up under me. With six planes against him, there
- was no chance. He avoided one Hun, pumped a few bullets into another. The next
- one got him square to rights. The Hun pilot hosed a spray into his cockpit.
- Barker's plane shuddered a little, and then gently spun away. There was no sign
- of Barker, only a red splodge. His SE5a pranged just behind our lines. Two
- letters tonight. I cried a couple of tears. I'd have to avenge them.
- Boche looked around. He smelt blood, and the shark-like Albatrosses
- wanted to feed. I'd oblige. With no one to compete with, the enemy was mine.
- I dived in behind one victim, and sprayed his plane. He dived, but only into my
- sights again, and one long burst resulted in him buying the farm. Another one
- zipped past. I latched on to him, and dogged him to the end. One of his mates
- tried to help out, but instead I helped myself to him.
- Three dead Huns, three to go. I saw the officer. He was shocked. He
- knew what I was doing. I'd like to think he knew who I was, knew my ace status,
- and how I got it. That I used my fellow pilots' lives to get prestige and
- honour. Not that it mattered. No one would ever know, not even the ground
- troops who confirmed my kills. I was too high up, they couldn't see the work of
- my treachery.
- One, two. Only the officer was left. I saw his panicked face as he
- struggled to escape. I knew where the fuel tank were in the Albatross, and
- fired. His plane brewed up. I could see him struggling about, flames all
- around him. Normally I'd follow him down, firing as I went, but I was content
- to see him fry. Poor bloody blighter.
- With that over and done with, I flew home. As I walked across the tarmac,
- I heard one of the other pilots say to another, "'e's come back alone again. No
- wonder 'e's called the 'Lone Eagle'." Cheeky sod. I'd have to take him up next
- week.
-
- (Lord Reginald Asqwith VC, DSO, Legion d' Honneur, etc. survived the war with a
- total of 336 kills, the "Ace of Aces". No one suspected his methods.
-
- In 1934 he joined the Tory party, and was a vocal opponent of Nazism. However
- he was rumoured to have secretly been a supporter of an alliance of Britain and
- Nazi Germany against Soviet Russia.
-
- In 1945 Asqwith succeeded Churchill as leader of the Conservatives, and became
- Prime Minister in the 1949 General Elections. Asqwith supported France with
- bombers in 1953 in Indochina, and kept the tanks in the Suez, thereby ousting
- Nasser in Egypt. The Blue Streak, the first British rocket, was launched in
- 1958.
-
- Asqwith retired in 1962, knighted in 1968, and died in 1985, the elder Tory
- statesman.
-
- His private diaries are locked under the 50 year Official Secrets act.)
-
- Now you know what sort of sod I am. (At least at _Wings_, anyway.)
-
- Widya Santoso, the "Grim Reaper"
- ----------------------------
- "Whenever anyone talks about culture,
- I reach for my revolver."
- -- Hermann Goering
-
- This has been a Widya Santoso Production
- Please send all EMail to
-
- [100033,361]@compuserve.com
-
- I hope you have had pleasure reading my words.
-
- Brought to you by (but not responsible for, and don't send mail to...)
- .
-
- --
- Tonio Loewald | tal691@huxley.anu.edu.au | Life is short. Be nice.
- "You can lie/You can cry/For all the good it'll do you, you can
- die/But when it's done/And the police come/And they lay you down
- for dead/Just remember what I said" (Paul Simon-not the senator)
-